Your name is Desmond Miles
by birdiemagnet
Summary: Usually after you die, you don't get a tail, you don't wake up in God knows when France, and you don't run into your ancestors who aren't even supposed to be alive in this time period. This is basically me sending assassins into France and weirding out the newly made siren by throwing men at him. Yes. This is that.
1. Chapter 1

Okay so I'm gonna have absolute fun with this. I don't care if Des was 25, or that Arno had an english accent in the game or whatever, or that they couldn't even know each other, or that randomly throwing various assassins into the story when things get boring doesn't make the slightest bit of sense. Nope nope nope, not here. Also, italics is different languages.

Your name is Desmond miles and you have no idea where the fuck you are.

Let's retrace his steps, shall we?

He was in the place with the pillar, Juno telling him to do something. Hand on the pillar. Blah blah blah, yeah, all of that shit, but what next? How the fucking fuck was he in a… river? Lake?

Specifics aside, he had a tail. A silver one to be exact. Desmond looked around, rather confused might I add, at the large fish-like tail what now took place of his legs. It was rather pretty, catching the sunlight in the best way, but that was beyond the point.

He brought a hand up to his head and flicked his attention up to where he was. It looked to be on the shore of some river separating two… cities? Half of his newly obtained tail was in the water, almost blinding him because of its shiny, reflective, silver scales covering it.

"What the fuck" He croaked. His voice was dry, scratchy even, which cause him to rest a hand on his… gills. Alright, what the hell. Alongside his lightly tanned neck were what he could only classify as gills. Like little… cuts? That didn't hurt? Desmond shook his head, too confused to even think about that right now.

He looked over to the large cliff side that was on his side of the shore and listened for any information on where he might be. The city was loud, that was for sure, but on closer inspection, it looked not really of this time. On top of that, he was pretty sure french was spilling out of their mouths… not even a language he could speak. Ezio might have known a few words, but Desmond knew basically nothing about the language.

So, it looks like he's in some old time of France, has a tail, and in a river. He still wasn't sure on the lake/river thing.

The cliff looked to have a stone wall built into it, and stairs leading up to the mainland. Not like he could even consider using them in his current condition. Also, at the bottom of the stairs there looked to be a built in cave of some sorts, and a man standing in there. Ah yes, a man standing there in what looks to be a hood.

Wait.

Desmonds eyes widened a fraction, and he flicked his head to the water. If a human saw him with a damn tail there was no telling what hell would break loose. All of the questions that he couldn't answer. Bloody hell, he couldn't swim either… or, more like, he had yet to. With a tail, that is. Also, he knew that type of hood from a mile away. Lord knows what he would be getting into meeting up with that dangerous bunch while he can't even run.

He looked back to the now rapidly growing figure of the man and then hurriedly shoved himself into the water.

* * *

Your name is Arno Dorian, and you really need to stop wasting all of your money on ammunition.

Arno sighed, nodding at the shop keeper's "_Thank you_!". The assassins cavey thing was pretty quiet today, only a few hooded people offering a greeting to him as he walked down the statue filled hallway.

His new mission was to take some files from a templar's house. Simple. Yes, that it would be, if Arno hadn't wasted a fair amount of his pocket money on distracting civilians, leaving him to waste the rest of his meager amount of franks on ammunition. Frustrating as it was, he was to fund his own endeavors and missions. So, before his official one, he's decided to head out and do some side work.

Arno shut the gate to the bureau with a muted metallic clank, and stepped out into the open, but still shaded, area of the shore.

The first thing that he saw was a man. Well, possibly a boy, he did look rather young. The thing that stuck out though was the large tail.

The large, fish tail connected to him.

Connected to the boy.

The tail.

What the fuck?

The guy turned, making what seemed like direct eye contact with Arno, and before he knew it, he was walking over to him. Just the kids slight glance toward the water had Arno picking up his pace.

What in ever loving fuck was this? Arno recalled story tales of these fishy people, mermaids he believed, and how they were indefinitely not real.

But before he could even shout a quick, "_Wait, Mister!_", the guy was gone. He saw the flash of his silvery tail in the water and… did something that he wouldn't normally do.

Arno jumped into the water after a fleeing mermaid.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ggggggggfuckfucfuck_

Desmond was flailing around helplessly in the water. He was pretty sure he was moving forward though, which was a plus he assumed. It felt like he was swimming with his legs tied together, but for some reason it was working. Also, he could breathe underwater.

Sure it wasn't a huge deal after the whole noticing the gills thing, but it was still weird.

He dared a glance back and saw through the distorted waves that the man was following him into the water.

Shit.

And, on top of that, he was gaining on him because of Desmond's poor swimming-with-a-tail skills and the mans obvious muscle. Well, if he couldn't beat him, maybe he could just wait him out. It's not like he can breathe in this too.

Desmond huffed, and aimed lower, swimming deeper and deeper into the now darker water. His dark brown eyes shut when the cold water hit him. Hey, no sun meant no reflection on his blatant target of a tail. Seriously the thing could be seen from a mile away in the sunlight, like some neon sign saying 'Look! It's a fucking MERMAN, right here!'

Once he almost hit the bottom, the only thing stopping him being his now cut hands, he floated still. Desmond's eyes now scanning the far away surface for anything. He saw… the man swimming back to shore. Oh fuck yes, that was close.

Getting involved with assassins that he didn't know was sure to be a messy thing, no doubt that the man would report to his master on what he saw.

Hah, nobody will believe him.

Desmond let out a small laugh, jumping at the weird muted sound it made in the water. Definitely not what he was used to, at the very least.

Well, now what? He was sufficiently cold to the bone, and kind of shaken after the chase. Not to mention hungry and tired to top it all off. He slowly made his way to a further point than the man went, and poked his eyes above water, reveling in the warm sun.

What was he going to do? Last time he checked he was supposed to be dead… Desmond huffed a sad sigh and slid his eyes shut. Was this was Juno had wanted? Was Rebecca and Shawn okay?

Was his dad okay?

All the while thinking about this, he swam to the shore. Whatever person that might see him, he needed to sit down. Right now he wanted gravity to be like he remembered and pretend that he knew what he was doing.

After scooting up onto the shore, he pulled his tail out and sat parallel to the shore. Desmonds tail reached to about the same length, if not longer, than his former legs. It was sleek and even had some smaller fins near his hips that he didn't notice before. It felt… scaly, like a fish, but bigger.

He shook it off in the sand to somewhat dry it and widened his eyes as they melted into….legs. Legs, his own, just like he remembered them being.

From what the now confused Desmond could take from this, he got his tail dry, and they turned into legs. Weird shit, but somewhat convenient. A grin spread across the Americans face.

"Freaking sweet" He said.

Now, to test the little fuckers.

He stood after a small bit of time, actually not that used to them after all of that swimming. Ahh, to stand, he missed it like his own mother. Okay maybe that wasn't a good thing to think about right now.

Now, to get food.

Desmond eyed his naked figure, and after some small time to decide, he agreed that he should probably find some food before he went up the nearby stairs. He saw… a cloth nearby. Eh, that would pass for now.

It went to his knees and hung loosely around his hips. A bit inappropriate for public areas, but it would suffice until he mugged some poor soul of their clothes as soon as he reached the top of the stairs.

Sure, people looked at him funny when he walked across the street and said various french things that Desmond couldn't understand, but it was alright. He couldn't help the blush that was spread across his cheeks when everyone stopped and stared, though. The reactions varied from somewhat unamused to oddly scandalous and down right _pervy._ 'It's not like it was anything to look at' he thought, swallowing roughly and making it into an alley.

Ah, there seemed to be a clothes line hung up in someones backyard, and a big one too. Desmond tried to be at least a little bit sneaky as he took a plain pair of pants and a shirt that looked to be his size, but it was pretty hard to do with a lady yelling at him right as he took them.

His big brown eyes widened at the angry french that she was yelling and he all but ripped on the clothes and booked it.

Oh fuck why did he even take it while she was looking, it was stupid as hell and now he had he yelling angry french words at him and-

And there was someone running after him.

He could tell by the amount of citizens now looking not at him but behind him, and the nice little footsteps trailing after him.

They were quiet, getting louder, but still too quiet to be a guard or a civilian. They were undoubtedly trained and just the thing that Desmond was not willing to deal with right now. He had no weapon, no idea where he was, and just not in the mood to deal with an assassin.

Desmond pushed himself to go faster and after seeing that he wouldn't hit anything, looked behind him.

Yep, definitely an assassin.


	3. Chapter 3

Arno rolled his eyes at the familiar sound of ,"He took my things!" "Someone get him!". It was these kind of things that he was waiting for because more likely than not the lady would pay him for returning the object. It was just that it was unbearably easy. Arno enjoyed some type of challenge that he could wrap his head around and probably get more money for.

He leapt off of the building he was perched on and made his way after the person he assumes was the thief. Hell, he was running full speed through a crowd away from the damn near deafening lady, it wasn't that hard to come to.

Arno ran at the thief, catching up rather quickly because of his trained speed. The other looked to be unsure of where to go but still running. And just when he was about to tackle him, the smaller of the two sped up.

Arno slipped a little amused smile. Maybe this had more to it than a 12 second chase and a few livres. That is, until the other person looked back at him.

It was like everything froze, and he locked eyes with they guy. Oh fuck, it was him. It was him it was him it was HIM. Without a doubt it was the guy with the tail he was after earlier today. He dragged a glance across his face but the other quickly looked away and went even faster.

The devilish smile returned. Arno had some questions to ask this kid.

Desmond ran faster than he thought his legs could take him. It was not only an assassin, but it was _that_ assassin. The one from the shore.

He wanted to bash his head into a wall. Damn his luck, it had to be him. Bloody fuck and he was slowing a bit too. He looked around at his options and gave a small sigh of annoyance. Alright, looks like up was the only way he could maybe lose this guy.

**Far away, in another time, a couple of people behind desks eyes widened. "Initiate, who is that?"**

Okay so maybe taking the roofs was a bad plan. Desmond wobbled roughly as he sprinted across one of the many ropes connecting the buildings. His pursuer was still on his tail, no pun intended, and was closing the gap quicker than Desmond could say "I hope he speaks english".

His bare feet could not handle these rough roofs, and were basically screaming at him with each step. This couldn't possibly go on for any longer, and just to further prove that point, Desmond all but tripped off the edge of a building, catching himself before falling into the soft waves below.

The assassin slowed to a leisurely walk, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Ugh, what an asshole.

"_Looks like you're out of roof, mon ami" _He said, chuckling a bit at the end.

Wow, good thing Desmond knows literally no french. Seriously he was contemplating asking if the guy knew english, it would save a lot of confusion and misunderstanding.

Desmond rolled his eyes nonetheless, it sounded kind of snarky so he figured he'd treat it as such. With one movement he stretched his arms up, fixing the somewhat oversized shirt he'd stolen.

Arno frowned, tilting his head. Was this guy even french? He didn't really look like it, but Paris was home to a wide variety of people, so appearance wasn't a good judge. Speaking of appearance, the guy didn't even look like he took anything.

"_Not that it's the first thing on my mind, Monsieur, but what did you take?"_

Desmond offered a clueless blink. Since it was a question he was probably expected to answer… in french. Ooooh fuck. He laughed nervously, raking his mind for any word…. any word at all._..wooooooords_… He coughed uncomfortably.

"Uh… oui."

Oh fuck. Yes? Yes to WHAT? He could have just sold his soul to the devil for all he knows. Damn, didn't teach french in the farm, thanks dad.

Arno sighed, but managed to look kind of smug while doing so. How that works, I do not know. The hooded man snapped his fingers, as if trying to think of something, and then said, "Ahh, you speak english, then?"

It was like heaven on his ears, english. Yes, yes that is what he needed. Desmond had a surprised smile on his tanned face and was about to answer the man when in the distance a loud voice sounded.

"_Hey! What are you doing up here? Citizen!"_

Desmond snapped his head over to the guard that was aiming a rather large gun at him. And there's his cue.

"Wow, nice chat, and on that note I think I'll take my leave!" He said without even looking at the hooded man.

Now Desmond was about to do something that he was sure to regret later, but the amount of snipers forming and the closer the assassin got was enough to push him off the edge. Literally. Desmond leaped off into what he thought would be deep enough water, screaming his throat raw.

"FUCKING ASSASSINS"


	4. Chapter 4

As he expected, the water below was cold, dark, and painful. His tail shredded through what used to be his pants like they were made from nothing more than tissue or something equally as damn breakable. But hey, at least he could swim a bit faster now.

He darted away from the spot where the _others_ last saw him, the others being the surprisingly english speaking assassin that was tailing him and the shouty guards on patrol. Yeah that bunch could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

Damn, the farther he swam down, the colder it got. But the farther he swam down the less people could see the damn fish tail. This was a problem he was going to have to get used to.

Meanwhile, in the depths of time, stood a grown, white clad assassin. Of course now you, the reader, is wondering /which/ particular grown, white clad assassin I could be describing. And to that, I will assure you that with whichever one is picked, there will be both in this clusterfuck of a story.

Altair Ibn-La'Ahad stood in the Master's study, looking rather skeptically at the spherical object in a box. A /gold/ spherical object to be exact.

The apple has had him puzzled for weeks now. What was he supposed to do with it? Protect it? Hide it? Others have previously told him not to use it, but he barely even knew /how/ to use it, let alone release it's /powers/. Whatever the fuck those powers were supposed to be anyway.

He let out a frustrated sigh and took it in his hands. It whirred and glowed in a way…. it has not done before. Progress! Or, maybe progress? Altair wasn't exactly looking for a happy little desk pet to whir and glow to his command. He just wanted to _know_. Know what it did, know what it _could_ do, hell, know ANYTHING about this piece of TEMPLAR TRAS- oh wait its floating.

Or was he floating?

In a mere second, the composed, stern assassin was neither composed nor stern. In fact he was quite confused and to be honest losing his vision.

The other grown, white clad assassin was currently sitting boredly on a rooftop. Well, not currently. More so around the 1480's, which is much farther in time than we were previously in, but relative to /your/ time, it should be way back when… should be.

Ezio watched the mass amount of venetians scuttle around in one of the more popular areas, nobody even bothering to look up to see his hooded figure leaning lazily against one of the church towers.

What a bunch of suckers.

Or at least that's what he thought before a large cloud of off-blue, moving squares (they're pixels okay its damn pixels but he can't word them because they weren't a thing back then) just sort of /formed/ out of nowhere, promptly dropping a white robed, human shaped, flailing figure onto the nearby roof.

This had Ezio in his mildly-confused-but-making-up-for-it-in-heightened-skill mode. Or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. He flipped into eagle vision as he scaled the nearby building, making sure to stay out of the persons line of sight as the said person got up, holding their head in what looked to be pain.

The person got up quickly, surprisingly stiff, looking around defensively like a caged animal. But something about it looked trained, graceful even.

Ezio would be lying if he didn't get the smallest bit impressed when the person, or man as Ezio now saw, stopped looking around and locked his eyes on where Ezio was hiding.

No use in hiding now, you've been spotted, Ezio.

He stepped out of his makeshift hiding area, fully into the light, showing off his more decorated robes.

Now this scenario isn't perfect without one thing.

"_Did it hurt?"_

Altair narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the strange tongue the man was speaking with, but the words began to piece together in a foggy clump of blue squares (pixels dammit) in his mind. They translated roughly into arabic for him and he narrowed his gold eyes even more.

The voice Altair responded with was definitely his own, but he spoke with a heavily accented version of whatever the other man was .

"_What?"_

Ezio chuckled a bit over the others obvious confusion. He was bored, no missions to take care of, the brotherhood could do fine on it's own for a bit. That left him time to mess around with this strange foreigner.

"_When you fell from heaven, of course"_

Altair took a couple seconds for the nifty little built in translator to do it's job, and responded with a slightly offended huff. Was this strange man trying to _court_ him? He reached for his dagger in a flash, launching forward to pin him, down.

It seemed that the other was much more skilled than he appeared to be, dodging Altairs attack with a mere inch to spare.

Altair whipped his head around, catching the other by his ankle, and pulled it towards him. This left Ezio to, rather smoothly I must say, catch himself on the stone roof with a grunt and twist his foot out of the Altairs grasp.

It wasn't until both were at each others necks with hidden blades that both stopped and realized that they were fighting one of their own.

Altairs fingerless hand pressed his hidden blade dangerously close to Ezio's neck, Ezio's position just about the same. They were equally matched in power it seemed, and neither of them liked that fact.

Altair was first to speak, his sharp, low voice weirdly winding around the new Italian words like a snake.

"_Explain_."

It was short and to the point, just like everything Altair did. Just to prove he meant business Altair pressed closer, fighting his dominance over the other.

Two alpha's never really did mix.

Ezio growled, words just _dripping_ with venom. He didn't like this stranger as much as he thought he might. Looks like this eye candy had an attitude. He also didn't like that he was the smaller one in this situation.

"_Assassin, I'm not your enemy. Which brotherhood are you from."_

It wasn't really a question, though. It was a command, the words twisting and lifting at points, all the more accenting his damn pissed off brown eyes. Ezio was not having a good time.

Both let go of each other, settling instead to glare at a distance, tense as ever.

Altair decided now was a fair time to answer, not even bothering to lower his blade as he stood tall.

"_I hail from Masyaf. I am the current Master, and I outrank you, peacock."_

That rustled Ezio's feathers, annoyance evident in his eyes. Could this guy seriously just pop up in his territory and tell the _master_ that he _outranked him_? Who did he think he was? Masyaf hasn't even been occupied since fucking Altair mastered the place. Templars took that place right as the legend died. As if to word his thoughts, Ezio spat, "_Masyaf? Are you joking? The assassins have not occupied the Masyaf castle since Altair was around. Don't try to fool me."_

The larger of the two bristled at his name. _Since Altair was around_? Has the apple… brought him to the future? Apparently the second of confusion was enough for Ezio to catch.

"_What is your name, brother"_

Altair took a moment to look back into the others eyes, his own gold one swirling with age and knowledge. He was not that old at all, but he has definitely seen some shit in his time.

"_My name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, of Masyaf."_

And it was like the confusion was some contagious infection, spreading to the smaller assassin.

What the fuck?

**this chapter was too long so imma have to cut it off here. maybe ill post another today who knows**


	5. Chapter 5

After the mild spell of confusion and explanation they found out that the apple, the one that Ezio also has, had caused this _issue_ to happen.

You could now find the two in Ezio's study, looking curiously at the culprit. The culprit being the golden sphere sitting in a box on the table.

Now, you might find this situation eerily similar to one that took place back in Altair's study when he was poking around at the object himself. You also might argue that this was a stupid idea for them to do and that I should stop breaking the 4rth wall trying to explain things to you, but if the apple got him here it might just get him back, and I am in control of this trainwreck so stfu.

Ezio tilted his head slightly, his hood now down, and looked at Altair.

Altair, of course, still donned his hood, and replied with an unamused stare.

Obviously there was still some hostility in the air.

Ezio finally broke the stiff silence, coughing a bit uncomfortably.

"_So, should I touch it?"_

Altair almost hit the other, going instead to throw him a glare. "_Are you serious, that's how I got into this mess!" _He bristled. At least his speech was a bit more fluid in what Ezio had said was Italian. Though he could still speak Arabic, it seemed that the apple had nicely allowed him to understand and speak the others language, allowing him to put into words how much of a terrible idea that would be.

Ezio made a little helpless noise, throwing his hands up. "_We're not just going to stand around here staring at it then? Maybe holding it again will get you back to Masyaf." _He said motioning towards the apple and then to the taller assassin. They couldn't do nothing, because that would have an outcome of nothing! Nothing ventured nothing gained goddamit, this was his territory, Altair can go back to his own time.

The taller of the two sighed, looking suspiciously at the apple. If someone had to touch it, it wasn't going to be him. Falling on your ass onto a roof was fucking painful and he was not eager to relive it if it happened again. If. He hated that word. He needed an absolute.

"_If anything, you should touch it first." Altair said lowly._

Ezio scoffed, "_Is the big Master scared? Fine, I'll handle it."_

Before Altair could bite back a response, Ezio had the artifact in his hands.

The apple glowed, and Ezio's eyes rolled back into his head. He swayed dangerously and was about to hit the ground when Altair caught his shoulder.

Around this time was when shit hit the fan.

The light that the apple was emitting was blinding to say the least. Altair couldn't see anything, and he was almost certain that Ezio couldn't either in his current state.

Altair shut his eyes, familiar with the process because the exact same damn thing happened a mere hour ago when he was zapped to this place. He held on to the smaller's shoulder tightly, hoping for the worst

Ah, there was that floating feeling again. Up we go, the blue squares basically swallowing them whole. It felt like his entire being was being shoved into a small box, not to mention him dragging ezio along with, his unconscious hands still holding a death grip on the golden sphere. At least the Italian assassin didn't drop it like he had, that apple could possibly be their only way out, assuming that damned thing was hauling them to another place/time.

Man, Altair had to put up with a lot of shit in his time.

They dropped unceremoniously onto some flat ground like place. All that Altair knew was that it was a LOT more rough than the last time. The drop has successfully knocked the wind out of him, breathing out a wheeze of pain.

The still figure next to him which he assumed to be Ezio stirred and held it's head, groaning.

"_My god, what happened_" Ezio groaned, not even bothering to sit up, favoring instead to cradle his aching head.

Altair sat up groggily, blinking a few times before snapping back to you're-in-uncharted-territory mode. He was on his feet in seconds, checking the area before dubbing it "safe" for now. Whatever that was supposed to mean. No flirty strangers this time.

"_You grabbed the apple, like an idiot, and we got sent here."_ Altair snapped, helping the other to his feet before hitting his rather hardly on the back of his head.

Ezio groaned, swatting away Altair's hand a bit too slow. _"I feel like I have the worst hangover right now, shut up."_

Altair scoffed, turning away to get a better look at their surroundings. Roof again, it seemed. They looked to be in some kind of city, lots of people walking around, but not as… clean looking as venice had? Something about it was different, but the most noticeable thing was the language.

Dear lord why couldn't they just speak Arabic. He'd even take Italian at this point, seriously, he didn't need a new language with funny sounding words.

"_Hey, Ezio, they're speaking a different language."_

Ezio stopped rubbing his eyes and looked up, listening to the commoners talk on the street.

"_Ahh, French, I know a bit of this language!" _He said with a smile, jogging over to the edge of the roof to peek at the people.

Altair rolled his eyes, just his luck to be stuck in this second level of hell with Ezio. He barely knew the guy and he already signed him up on the asshole list.

Ezio suddenly spoke up, _"I think theres a river or something over there, we should go to a high place to see if we're in France, or just a French speaking area."_

The taller of the two blinked, looking over at Ezio.

"_What?_"

"_That makes sense. Good job, novice."_

Altair was off to the tower, a livid Ezio trailing angrily behind, every once and a while yelling insults in Italian at him.

Ah, he missed this, free running through a city. Sure the buildings were weird and had different areas to grab and swing off, but it was basically the same thing.

Ezio was feeling the same way, having cooled off from the uncalled for comment from the older assassin. He occupied his mind with ways to get back at the other.

**okay time to fuck things up**


	6. Chapter 6

**WOW FUCK IT ISNT A CHAPTER **

**im pretty sure her name was sexyrain or like mrs sexy rain or some shit but like**

**should connor be in this shit tho**

**if people actually respond ill have an update tomorrow**

**he wouldn't be in the ship but i kinda like des chillin with him while running away from exotic assassins because he can speak english**

**yall amigos better review**


	7. Chapter 7

**okay so this is the last introduction, yall wanted connor, here you go**

There was no fucking way he was going to eat a raw fish.

Desmond was currently swimming circles in what he found out earlier that day was the Seine river, fretting over how he was going to get a meal. Obviously he _could_ just go and… eat a fish. But he pushed that out of his options quick because thats fucking disgusting and he could get sick or something. Also he didn't have any way to catch a fish, his only previous history being nosing around in Connors mind as he caught the slimy bastards.

This left the only option being, well, up.

Up to shore that is, where all the scary foreign people are that yell at him when he steals clothes are.

Okay, all he had to do was just… be a bit more sneaky, right?

Desmond swam skeptically to shore, repeating the actions of drying off his tail, grimacing as they melted into legs, and wobbling to his feet. He was sure that he's never going to get over the whole tail to legs thing. Or legs to tail that is either.

Ah, back to square one, ass naked standing on a beach. Well, this time it was a lot later, more so dusk than what looked to be mid day earlier.

He took a shaky breath to calm his ass down and stuck to the shadows near the wall, at least he had some kind of hiding or whatever. Honestly it was better than nothing.

Now…some clothes would be nice.

He squinted his eyes over the sunset glare and saw some commoners walking around the beach, one lagging slightly.

He was just going to have to… knock him out, or something like that.

Oh my god he really hoped they didn't look back and see him, a naked hobo, stealing their friends clothes.

Desmond flicked into eagle vision, humming happily when it still worked. This would make things much easier. The three pedestrians glowed a warm blue, signaling that they probably won't fight back or have any weapons on them at all.

Ugh thinking about that made him think he was gonna mug them or something.

….Well he basically wa- shit they're getting away.

Desmond mentally slapped himself for thinking too much about stealing clothes from someone, focusing instead on getting to the group of fading blue people.

All it took was a headlock and a hand over the mouth for desmond to knock the lagging one out and drag him to the shadowy area. The seemingly endless ruckus up on the streets drowned out the muted yelling and kicking, so the friends didn't even notice.

God fucking damn it Desmond don't pity everyone you knock out, he'll be fine, Desmond'll be fine, he just won't have clothes and Desmond will.

I mean, he probably has clothes at home anyway, and poor Desmond doesn't even have a home let alone clothes in said home.

Either way, Desmond was now fully clothed in some weird smelling, loose clothing, and was browsing the streets idly. I mean window shopping was pretty fun when you had no idea what the stores were at all. It was almost like he was a kid again. Well, actually no, seeing that he wasn't locked up in a farm being taught to kill things.

Aren't childhood memories fun?

Desmond made his way easy enough around the ever so active streets of Paris, making sure to blend when blending was necessary and even steal when the option showed up. He racked in a good amount of the places currency without getting noticed, though it was pretty useless with him not knowing at all how it worked or how much he actually had. Hopefully it was enough for some food.

While counting the various coins, Desmond made the obvious mistake of trying to walk while counting. As you can imagine this lead to a minor setback in his travels.

Or more so, a large one. Desmond swore that whoever he knocked into was as big as a tank, it felt like he walked into a freaking brick wall for heavens sake. It was no surprise that he was on the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was goin-" Desmond blurted out, trying to stand up while not look completely embarrassed, when he looked up at the person he ran in to.

Is that?

It can't be.

No fucking way.

"Um, do I know you?" Connor said quietly, offering the smaller of the two a hand. "I think that I know you from somewhere."

Connor Kenway, in the flesh, standing right in front of him, asking if they knew each other.

Nothing was easy for poor Desmond, was it?

Connor helped him up, but looked to be somewhat uncomfortable with Desmond not answering and just standing there with his mouth open. He couldn't help it, okay? Its not everyday you see your ancestor who is currently supposed to be raising hell in the American Revolution, here, with you, in Paris, France. It was a surprise that Desmond was still standing after all the shit he's dealt with.

Hey, maybe Connor could be an ally? Fuck, Desmond would call anyone who spoke english and wasn't an immediate threat a god send. And hey, Connor is probably in the same boat as him, not knowing what the hell to do in this city.

"Connor, is it? …. My name's Desmond"

It looked like a little spike of realization was happening in Connor's head because his eyes widened slightly.

"Desmond… Miles? I've seen you in my dreams, you're real?"

Wait, what?


	8. Chapter 8

Desmond and Connor hit it off great. Well, just about as great as it could get seeing as the taller of the two poofed across the pacific ocean and ran into his ancestor. Specifics aside, you could find them walking the streets of Paris together, looking idly at the various shops and weird people walking around them.

To clear some things up, Connor had said that the artifact that he "found" had somehow brought him here. Desmond assured him that he was in the same boat, lost in Paris, but tactfully avoided the whole I'm-supposed-to-be-dead topic.

Ah yes, that'll be saved for a later date, preferably with copious amounts of alcohol and self loathing.

At some point Connor had offered to look for a place to stay the night because it was getting dark. Desmond agreed, obviously, because if anyone was gonna do it it wasn't gonna be him.

They were walking down the street as the sun was far past setting, when a rather familiar figure stepped out.

Desmond, bless his luck, recognized it _instantly_, and snatched a hat from a passing by citizen.

Arno sighed, today had been an interesting day to say the least.

He'd successfully lost the mystery fish-thief, and he was currently walking boredly through the street. An assassin's life was definitely exciting, but right now there was literally nothing to do. He was just left with an eerie curiosity of who that damn kid was and why he could have a tail.

Yes, interesting, to say the least.

He yawned, before something caught his eye.

Was that an assassins hood? Surely all of them were either on missions or lingering around the bureau around this time. Arno walked over, maybe they had some exciting news. Literally anything was better than this.

"_Hey! Brother, how are you?"_

Connor looked around slightly confused at the exclamation before his eyes focused on the approaching stranger. Oh god, was he talking to him? Connor looked to Desmond helplessly but saw that the smaller was covering his face and trying to inch away.

Oh HELL nah, Desmond had said they were in it together and you can bet Washington's Fake-ass teeth he was gonna follow through. In one swift yank, the taller assassin had pulled the smaller back beside him where he could endure just as much uncomfortable small talk with this french man as Conner.

So, back to what the said man was saying, it sounded like a… question. Yes, a question, and with all questions: they must have an answer.

This left the native assassin in a slight frown of thought. He could try to say something back but it would definitely be in english. He could nod, but that would give the idea that he knew what he was saying. And trust him, Connor did _not_ know what the man was saying. Lastly, he could just… not answer.

As he ran through his options, Connor noticed that the man was growing curious and somewhat suspicious. It didn't help that Desmond was hiding his face like a child either. He should probably answer then.

"I am sorry, but I do not know what you mean" The native spoke in his usual monotone range, giving a slight tilt of his head to top it all off.

Desmond must have been not pleased with his answer because soon Connor felt a slight pain in his ribcage. Really? High talk coming from the one _not helping_.

Oh SHIT, NO. Connor, of all fucking things you just had to say _that._ Now the guy would try to talk or something and Desmond would have less and less of an excuse to look like an idiot in a hat.

As the less lethal of the three looked at the one that had just caused him this bloody dilemma. The best he could give was that half-assed elbow to the ribs but he would make sure to tell Connor that talking to strangers was bad and give him a firm backhand on his tree-trunk of a neck.

Seriously, this guys neck was like the size of his thigh.

ANYWAY.

Desmond could feel the nervousness in the back of his throat, like a ice cube in the back of his shirt. If this french fucker caught on to who he was, he would have to answer a lot of questions that he did not ever want to answer.

So, the young assassin did something he hoped he never had to do and mustered up the inner-Shaun deep, deep down inside of him. With a sickeningly overdone and lilting, British accent, Desmond called out to his bear-of-a-buddy, Connor that they really needed to get the fuck out of here.

"Oh dear me! It's TEA TIME already! We simply MUST leave!"

The look Connor gave him was almost enough to give the panicked teen a fit of laughter, which is saying a lot, because the situation was quite tense.

Or, was, until…. that.

Connor blinked a few times before stating something that Desmond had really not expected from a fully grown and trained assassin.

"Desmond, you're British?"

Are you FUCKING kidding me right now. Of all times, Con', really? The shortest male raised his head just to show the other his pure exasperation. Hell, it was practically dripping off of his face in gooey puddles of 'are you shitting me' onto the stone road.

Though, this action did truly get his point across to Connor, it also got something across to a certain someone who was still present though this whole nonsense parade. A certain someone who's look of bemusement was now replaced with slightly widened eyes and laser focus.

"_Why, hello."_

The little snippet of french had Desmond rigid as a deer in hunting season. Oh fuuuck. His deep brown eyes flicked to the now completely different situation he was caught in and he let out a small, shaky breath. He'd let his cover be blown out of stupidity and now the ball was indefinitely in the Frenchman's court.


	9. Chapter 9

-lol sorry for the wait, its been awhile, bros-

What in the hell was going on.

Connor had been slick as butter trying to talk to this strange, presumably assassin, frenchman and Desmond had to go muck it up with his god-awful, british accent. Seriously he was pretty sure it sounded even more posh and stuck up than his father, and that was saying something. And even then he didn't even follow through with it because the guy said something that visibly made his little travel companion freeze in his bare footed tracks.

The only thing that could make this more uncomfortable would be… actually, no, this was about as uncomfortable as it got. And he couldn't even leave because this place was completely foreign and confusing to his more earthy taste. Not to mention really, really loud.

Desmond furrowed his eyebrows and latched onto Connor's forearm like his life depended on it. Jeez, for a little guy, he sure held on tight.

"H-hi… Have I, uh… seen ya before? I don't think so actually, I think I'd remember" the shortest assassin blurted out awkwardly, stepping closer to Conner's large frame.

The strange man tilted his head up, and looked a bit tense when he answered with "You're the thief, no?"

Connor found himself sizing up this guy real quick when Desmond let off his helpless vibe. Maybe it was because this younger assassin was literally the only person he knew in this place that the necklace had zapped him to, or because the guy looked like he would rather be buried alive than continue this conversation. Either or, he now felt somewhat tied to the little guy. As such, that was enough reason to tell this french guy to fuck off.

"We just arrived this evening by ship, I don't think we've encountered you before" Connor said, fixing his posture so the shadow he cast over the smaller frenchman was even more engulfing and intimidating.

Okay, so yeah, things could get a little more tense.

Before Connor could blink, the french guy had reached forward to grab Desmond's arm. Desmond, the teen he was, yelped like an injured mutt. And that's when everything went to shit.

Connor had kneed Arno in the stomach which made the blue-clad assassin retract his hand and duck before the native's fist could reach the side of his face. Like the runner that he was, Desmond took this chance to get the fuck out of there as fast as humanly (or, in his case, half humanly) possible.

He was a fair distance away, feet burning with overuse, when he looked back to see his good, American buddy tackling his pursuer before he could even get within a few feet towards the fleeing teen.

Hell yeah, escape artist Desmond Miles is at it again, sprinting through the streets of Paris like the skinny rat he was. That last encounter with the scary fast, french assassin was nothing compared to this, he could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins like he was on a Monster drink overdose.

But now that left him with the real questions.

Where to hide?

Well, the back of his head was screaming to get in the water like his life depended on it. The logical, more rational side was slightly hesitant because of the whole… fish problem. But hey, at least he was safe there.

He was almost to the roads that lead to the coast of the river when something important pinged in his head.

If he shifted right now there was the whole 'losing the clothes that you worked so hard to get' issue, which made him take a sharp turn down an alley so he could rethink some things.

For some reason, he knew where the water was at all times. He could feel it in his being and hear it in the back of his head like a dull rush of water. It was similar to holding a shell up to your ear to hear the waves. But, instead of hearing the magnified sound of blood rushing through your ears, he could hear the waves lapping at the shore and the fish swimming underneath.

Currently, the river was straight to his left, a fair distance away. So… logically, if he spent some time up here and went down to the shore when night fell he should be able to slip off the slightly large clothing and stash them somewhere before getting in the water.

He didn't wanna jack some poor soul's clothing all over again, it was still biting at his conscious.

And so, he didn't hesitate to start scaling the side of a building. Jeez, when Altair did this, he looked like a warrior. When Ezio did this, he looked graceful. When fucking Desmond decided to scurry up the side of a wall, he looks like a _little delinquent child_ halfway through a dare that his friends gave him on the playground. His feet were rubbed way too raw to get a good foothold and all in all he was just a little on the weak side because the last moments of his life was wasted lying in an electro-bed reliving the lives of guys who could actually do this shit.

His inner monologue was definitely readable on his furrowed expression as he grunted to pull himself onto the last ledge, his head just peeking up to the top.

He squinted at the sunlight and was about to lose his balance and fly backwards off of the building when something probably sent from god above stepped in front of the sunlight that was blinding his eyes.

Oh thank the lord above, he could see.

The slightly tanned teen blinked a few times, clinging onto the ledge, and focused on just what was sending him in the shade.

Or… who.

_Ah shit._


	10. Chapter 10

hey its shorter than like a year this time? enjoy

On the roof of a slightly tall building in Paris, France, two master assassins were bickering like little children for what seemed like the millionth time.

Altair, the oldest of the two, was leaning against a wooden box with his arms crossed, looking at the Italian master like he was a child that had asked him the same question one too many times.

Ezio, on the other hand, was pacing around in front of the Middle Eastern assassin, his whole figure warming up in the last of the evening sunlight. He was trying to get some kind of point across to the other taller assassin and was speaking heavily with his hands.

"_It's simple! If we just find another… well, hopefully another assassin with an artifact similar to the apple, then we might be able to return to our original times._"

Ezio grinned at his own idea like it was his first born son. He was more than confident that this would work and he wasn't sure why Altair wasn't jumping for joy about it like him, other than the fact that Altair would probably rather be caught dead than jumping for joy.

Altair rolled his eyes, holding the bridge of his nose with one of his hands and shaking his head. This guy was starting to give him a headache with his crazy ideas on getting back home.

"_If that thing is what took us out of our homes, then who is to say it won't bring us further down the path of no return? It is like a wild mustang, expecting something so specific from it would just lead to demise._"

"T_hat was probably the longest string of words I've ever heard from you._"

Altair responded with a dead stare, looking at the other before squinting at a flash of movement by the other's feet.

Who or what the fuck was that?

Assassin instincts instantly kicked in and the Arab master snapped into a defensive crouch, one hand on the handle of his knife as he got ready to shed some blood.

Ezio followed suite, thank the heavens above, and backed away from the ledge with practiced and silent steps.

Desmond was hanging on to the top of the ledge, his head uncomfortably ducked down and his heart beating like a fucking hamster.

Oh my god, is this what pre-death feels like?

Is this what it felt like when you probably DEFINITELY swore that you heard your ancient ancestors chatting like, well, not quite friends but somewhere around there, and then suddenly hear them **stop talking** and-

Why was his life so stressful?

He was sure that he was shaking pretty noticeably from the sheer muscle power it took to keep him stable on the small, oh so small, ledge in addition to a considerable amount of fear of being murdered so soon after dying.

The memories of battle techniques and stealth kills that the two had performed together coursing through his memory wasn't helping in the slightest either.

Right as the tanned teen was about to start looking for a possible escape route down the wall, the hidden blade of either one of the two assassins above him plunged into the wooden frame of the building in between his fingers, forcing him to retract one of his hands from holding on for dear life, and of coarse, fucking scream.

Desmond was dead certain that he was about to fall backwards onto the hard stone road, and he held his eyes squinted shut so that he wouldn't have to see any of his bones break in front of his eyes while doing so. He was shaking, scared, overworked, and well, he guessed this was the end of his little adventure.

Well, until he realized he wasn't falling, and opened his eyes to come face to face with two master assassins.

One holding the collar of his shirt as he dangled dangerously close to falling, only his feet still on the ledge saving him from slipping through the clothes. The other had a hidden blade pressed against his neck.

Both staring at him as if they could see through his very being.

"_Who are you_" They said in unison.


End file.
